Somebody's Watching Me
by That Guy Who Ships Niff
Summary: Sebastian longs to escape his small Southern town. He meets a mysterious new boy, Kurt. Together, they uncover dark secrets about their respective families, their history, and their town. Kurtbastian


_**A/N**_: In a new fic that's out to riff on the novel/recently released film _Beautiful Creatures_, it's a Kurtbastian fic with a few twists on the source material. Enjoy!

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I'm flying… Wait, how the hell am I flying? This has to be a dream. I looked down to see the boy, the same boy that's been in my head for who knows how long. His skin was just like one of those German ceramic figurines; his brown hair was perfectly coiffed and a puff slightly covered his left eye. I was never one for fashion, but damn, he's got the sense.

"Sebastian!"

I could hear his voice calling out to me, but it didn't sound melodious like it usually did. It was more like Mercy, the hired help. I let out a groan and pulled the covers over my head, only to have them yanked off.

"Sebastian Bennett Smythe, I been calling on you for the past two minutes. Get your behind out of bed and get ready," Mercy ordered. "I ain't fixin' for you to be late for the first day o' school." I groaned again and sat up, pushing a clump of hair from my face.

"I'm up!" I called.

"You better be!" Mercy called back. "You don't wanna get a whipping from your daddy's belt, do you?"

"I'm sixteen and it's the twenty-first century," I grumbled.

"Don't you sass me!" she shouted. I looked at the open door, still wondering how super her hearing was. Mercy was in her late-fifties and had the surprising abilities of a twenty-something, maybe more. I got into the shower and upon coming out saw the clock: 7:45.

"Crap," I muttered, rushing to get dressed. A horn honked from outside. I peered out the window to see my best friend Hunter sitting in his beat-up truck fidgeting with the stereo. Grabbing my backpack, I bounded downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Now you got three-and-a-half minutes to get some nutrition in 'fore you gotta go," Mercy said, handing me a plate with a fried egg, a strip of bacon, and two pieces of sausage. Despite all the yelling and nagging, I love Mercy. She knows me too well. I heard Hunter's usual rock music blasting from his stereo.

Mercy pulled open the window. "Hunter Gerard Clarington, you turn down that racket afore I get round to telling your mama what you was doin' in that so-called clubhouse when you was nine." Hunter flushed in embarrassment and turned down the stereo.

"Thanks, Mercy." I pecked her on the cheek and ran out of the house.

"Hey, man, what's got Mercy all riled up today?" Hunter asked, pulling out of my driveway.

"Got up late," I replied; my mind was nothing but the boy in my dreams. "By the way, what were you doing in Fort Awesome when we were nine?"

"What _didn't_ I do?" Hunter smirked and stopped at the stoplight right before Jefferson High. "Shit, Corny's at his favorite spot." Corny Wallace was the truant officer and sat in front of the QuickStop across the street from the school. He checked the clock: 8:10. "We got five minutes to homeroom. Think we can make it?"

"Drive," I said shortly and Hunter drove haphazardly through the mini-park outside Jefferson before parking slightly off-center. We got out and headed inside. Hunt and I have been best friends since first grade when I saw him sitting underneath the slide, hiding from some of the jerks in our class. I joined him and we became friends faster than the school whore gets around.

"Well, well, if it ain't Smythe and his butt buddy Clarington," a voice sneered. I sighed and turned to face Sam Evans, the quarterback of the football team and the most stereotypical blond guy in the world.

I opened my locker without a word to Evans and pulled out my lacrosse stick. "How'd you like a few teeth to go missing?" I scoffed, raising it menacingly. Evans grinned and one of his cronies snuck up behind me, twisting my other arm behind my back.

"Hey, let him go!" Hunter said, starting for Evans.

"Hunt, he's not worth it," I said, gritting my teeth. The warning bell rang and Hunter glanced at the homeroom, which was four doors down. "Just go, Hunt, okay? I'll be fine."

"Seb…"

"Hunter!" Hunter sighed and ran for the classroom. Evans' other crony snatched the lacrosse stick from my hand and tossed it down the hall.

"Come on, Smythe, what're you gonna do?" Evans taunted. I sighed in defeat. "You know the drill." I groaned and forced the words out of my mouth.

"I'm so sorry to have bothered you. Please forgive me, sir." I hated it, but if these guys were going to leave, it had to be done.

"That's a good boy," Evans sneered, patting me on the head. I fought the urge to snap at his hand like any normal dog would've done. "Let him go." I was released and I slumped against my locker as Evans walked away, his boys in tow.

"Prick," I muttered, grabbing my lacrosse stick and my books. I walked into homeroom, only to receive Mrs. Rockwell's glass eye.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Smythe," she said.

"Ma'am, I apologize for my tardiness." I sat down in front of Hunter and looked around at my classmates, finding some guy I didn't know in front of me and the Devil Incarnate on my right. Quinn Fabray, the most popular girl in school, was Evans' girlfriend and easily the last person you'd ever want to cross. I made that mistake last year when she asked me, of all people, to the Sadie Hawkins dance and, not knowing that I'm gay, was spreading it around school like wildfire that I was her boyfriend. She drove me crazy enough that at the dance, I told her that I preferred looking at Blaine Anderson's tight jeans than her constantly exposed scarlet red undies.

"Smythe," she said coolly, flipping her hair back in her usual fashion.

"Demon," I shot back, opening my binder.

"Ah, yes, the transfer!" Mrs. Rockwell was suddenly sprightly, which was new. She was not a happy person. I looked up and saw the boy from my dreams.

"Seb, did you know the new kid is Donner Thorndike's nephew?" Hunter poked me. Donner Thorndike was the town recluse. He never came out of his mansion over on Orzabal Lane.

"Class, this is Kurt Hummel," Mrs. Rockwell said. I looked into his eyes, only to see nothing but gray.


End file.
